


3 Times Sherlock Calls Mrs. Hudson His Mother, and 1 Time John Does

by bbcatemysoul



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Maternal!Mrs. Hudson, understanding!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcatemysoul/pseuds/bbcatemysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock may not actually be Mrs. Hudson's son, but he tries to be a good son anyway, in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Times Sherlock Calls Mrs. Hudson His Mother, and 1 Time John Does

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I was just having some really sentimental Mrs. Hudson feels, okay?? Please stalk me on [tumbr](http://bbcatemysoul.tumblr.com).

* * *

 

“I have to close up in five minutes,” the store clerk announced impatiently. 

John could hear her drumming her nails on the counter as he scanned the summary on the back of a science fiction novel. He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, she was leaning on her elbow, watching him, twisting a lock of brown hair with one hand and drumming the vibrant pink nails of the other on the counter before her. 

“I'm sure he won't be much longer,” John answered, glancing toward the back of the store, where Sherlock was looking for god-only-knew-what. 

As if on cue, Sherlock materialized beside him, holding a thick volume on the history of haematology and half a dozen Mills and Boon romance novels. 

“Sherlock,” John rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, “what, _what_ , could you possibly want those for?” 

Sherlock glanced at the stack in his hands, then looked at John as though he were being intentionally obtuse. “They're the ones Mrs. Hudson reads,” he pointed out, very slowly, as if explaining something to an idiot. 

“She said they were Mrs. Turner's,” John argued, “and if you're going to buy those, can I at least pretend I don't know you?” 

Sherlock closed his eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. “You came in with me and you've already addressed me by name, John, so no one is going to believe you don't know me. And no one except a moron would believe Mrs. Hudson when she claims those books aren't hers.” A flash of uncertainty flickered across his face, almost fast enough to miss. “Why, shouldn't I get them for her? I thought it would be... _thoughtful_ ,” he finished with distaste. 

“Yes, Sherlock, it would be thoughtful, which in no way even begins to explain to me why _you're_ doing it.” John shoved him firmly toward the counter, where the clerk was scowling more heavily by the second. As Sherlock plunked his stack of books down, the clerk picked up one of the romance novels and raised an eyebrow at him. John was standing behind his flatmate, but could imagine the resulting eye roll anyway. 

“They're for my mother,” Sherlock explained in a bored tone. 

John felt his eyebrows move toward his hairline. It was a good excuse; it's just that he didn't expect to hear Sherlock bothering to make excuses. And didn't particularly expect to hear him feigning familial duty as an excuse for anything, ever. 

The girl behind the counter smiled. “You're close to your mum, then?” she asked as she finished ringing up Sherlock's purchases. 

“Obviously.” He paid and stalked off with his books. 

John stepped up to the counter to buy his novel. 

“Your boyfriend's sweet,” the clerk told him as she rang up the book. 

“He's not -” John sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Don't suppose there's any point in asking for your number, is there?” 

The girl glanced toward the door of the shop. “I don't think he'd like that very much.” 

John followed her gaze to where Sherlock stood outside, scowling at them through the glass door and tapping his foot impatiently. He sighed again and snatched up his purchase. “Well, good night, then.”

 

* * *

 

John checked his watch for the fifth time and glared down at Sherlock's dark mop of curls. “Sherlock, how long are you going to sit on the floor and analyse puzzle books?” 

“John, it's very important to select books that Mrs. Hudson will find challenging enough to be entertaining, but not challenging enough to be frustrating. Perhaps I should let you select them; your intelligence level is much closer to hers than mine is.” Sherlock held up a thick stack of word search puzzles. “Also bear in mind the font size; it wouldn't do to give her a gift that will cause eye strain.” 

Heaving a sigh, John snatched the stack of books from Sherlock's outstretched hand. “You know, I'm almost beginning to regret reminding you about her birthday. For some reason, I assumed you would just stare into your microscope and ignore me, or tell me just how much you didn't care that Mrs. Hudson was turning a year older.” 

“Hm,” Sherlock gave a non-committal grunt and flipped through another puzzle book before glancing up. “Technically, she'll only be three days older than she is right now. One doesn't simply age a year overnight. Why do people always talk about birthdays as if one remains exactly the same age all year long and then one day wakes up a year older? Idiotic.” 

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” John snapped, selecting six puzzle books at random, shoving the remainder back onto the shelf, and hauling Sherlock up off the floor by the collar of his coat, “The point is that she'll be a year older than last time she celebrated a birthday. Now can we just get these and go?” 

Sherlock jerked out of John's grasp, smoothed his coat, and snatched the chosen puzzle books back. “You should wait for me outside,” he suggested. 

John frowned and glanced around the store. There was no one around except the girl behind the counter. “Why?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes toward the clerk. “No sense embarrassing yourself again.” 

“Embarrassing my-” John clenched his jaw. “You're unbelievable.” He followed Sherlock to the counter anyway. 

The clerk- Julia, her name tag said- ignored John completely and smiled sweetly at Sherlock. “You like puzzles, do you?” 

“Yes, but these would hardly qualify,” Sherlock turned his nose up at his purchases. Then, after a pause, “They're for my mother.” 

“Oh, I bet you're the apple of her eye, aren't you?” Julia asked as she held out her hand to take Sherlock's payment. 

Sherlock straightened a little, glowing under the praise. John bit back a sharp remark about good sons not shooting up the walls and blowing up chemistry experiments in their mum's house, and marched himself silently toward the door.

 

* * *

 

“John, why are these hideous things for sale in a book shop? Really, one could make a solid argument against selling them anywhere near people who have their full visual faculties.” Sherlock scowled at the pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers resting on the top shelf of a book display. 

John chuckled and pulled one of the slippers down, turning it over in his hands. He shrugged and gestured the end of the slipper toward the book display. “They have to do with the book. It's being made into a film. The slippers are a promotional item.” 

Sherlock turned the bunny slipper around in John's hands. “It has vampire teeth covered in blood, John.” 

“I'm surprised that doesn't make you like them more,” John grinned, waving it in Sherlock's face. “I think they're cute.” 

Sherlock made a noise of disgust and began to turn away, the tail of his coat fanning out dramatically. He halted mid-pivot and turned back, snatching the slipper out of John's hand. “Do you think Mrs. Hudson would think they're cute?” 

“If she does, you're going to be forced to see them often,” John warned, chuckling again as Sherlock picked through the supply of slippers, looking for Mrs. Hudson's size. 

“I'm already forced to see your hideous jumpers more often than I'd like,” Sherlock sighed resignedly. “I doubt a pair of vampire bunny slippers will make any difference. Ah!” He held up a pair triumphantly and strode toward the register. 

Julia grinned as she rang up the slippers. “How's your mum?” 

Sherlock looked perplexed. “Why are _you_ so concerned about my mother? You've never met her.” 

Julia's smile froze on her face. “Oh, I- I just thought you were shopping for her again.” 

“She's just making polite conversation, Sherlock,” John pointed out in a low voice. “Be nice.” 

Sherlock hesitated a moment, glancing from John to Julia and then down to the slippers and back to Julia again. “Mother's fine. Um. Thank you.” He grabbed the bag with the slippers and made for the door.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and John rounded the corner to Baker Street and... 

Broke into a run as they spotted the ambulance pulled up to the kerb outside 221. Mrs. Turner stood off to one side, sniffling into a handkerchief. 

“Oh! John, Sherlock!” she called to them in an unsteady voice just as paramedics emerged from 221 with Mrs. Hudson on a gurney. 

“What happened?” Sherlock snapped, thrusting the bag of slippers into John's hands as if it had personally offended him. 

“I just came 'round for a cuppa,” Mrs. Turner explained, her voice muffled behind her handkerchief. “And she had fallen on the kitchen floor-” 

Sherlock had already turned away to harass the paramedics instead, and John clutched at the elbow of his coat in vain, trying to restrain him. 

“I'm going with her,” Sherlock insisted, attempting to shove past one of the paramedics who was trying to shut the ambulance doors. 

“And just who, exactly, are you?” the paramedic demanded, raising a hand toward Sherlock's chest to hold him off. 

Sherlock opened his mouth and then snapped it closed again, looking stricken. 

 _Christ,_ John thought, _Sherlock Holmes is too distressed to lie._  

“She's his mum,” John explained calmly, before turning to Sherlock. “You go with her and I'll be along in a bit.” 

When John arrived at the hospital, Mrs. Hudson had been settled comfortably in a room and was already loopy on pain medication. She was prattling on to Sherlock about some daytime television show, while Sherlock sat at the bedside, scowling into the pages of a gossip magazine he had snatched from the waiting area. 

“Oh, John!” Mrs. Hudson cried happily as John walked in with a bouquet of bright yellow and orange blossoms. “You shouldn't have, dear; I'm only going to be in overnight because I gave my head a bit of a whack.” 

“John told the paramedics you were my mother,” Sherlock explained drily, glancing up at the flowers and the bag of goodies in John's hands, “So we might as well make a show of it.” 

John withdrew a brand new puzzle book and a romance novel out of the bag and put them within easy reach before pulling out the vampire bunny slippers with a flourish and holding them up for Mrs. Hudson's inspection. 

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands gleefully and wiggled her toes under her blanket. “Oh, how precious! Be a dear, John, and put them on me!” 

Obediently, John went to the end of the bed, and pulled back the blanket just enough to get to Mrs. Hudson's feet so that he could slide the pink slippers on for her. “I'll have you know, Sherlock picked these out all by himself, especially for you.” 

Sherlock snorted in disdain and tried to hide behind his magazine, but Mrs. Hudson swatted the pages out of the way and laid a hand affectionately on Sherlock's smooth cheek. 

“Well, I'll tell you what, no mum could have better boys than I have,” Mrs. Hudson declared. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Tedious,” he muttered, but John noted that he looked very pleased with himself.

 

* * *

 


End file.
